


in waiting, the demiurge's lady

by mercurialHekate



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, F/F, Gen, Nonbinary My Unit | Byleth, Other, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, mentions of gore/remains
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-03
Updated: 2020-12-03
Packaged: 2021-03-10 00:26:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27865325
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mercurialHekate/pseuds/mercurialHekate
Summary: A fragmented collection regarding Mercedes von Martritz and her attempts at finding salvation through her false progenitor and its material world.
Relationships: Annette Fantine Dominic & Mercedes von Martritz, Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd & Mercedes von Martritz, Ingrid Brandl Galatea & Mercedes von Martritz, Mercedes von Martritz/My Unit | Byleth
Kudos: 6





	in waiting, the demiurge's lady

**Author's Note:**

> im thinking to do chapter-specific cws but for this one there isn't much to tag beyond general mentions of violence/war and related disturbing imagery but nothing too graphic  
> byleth is agender and goes by he/she/they :)

"It's not that I don't wish to help, Mercedes, but," Ingrid pauses to scratch at her temple, "have you considered taking a more proactive approach regarding your studies?"

You tilt your head slightly before asking, "How so?"

"For example, I noticed you tend to sit in the back of the classroom even if you are one of the first to arrive. If you have trouble with concentrating, wouldn't it do you some good to sit in the front? I find it helps me keep focus even on bad days," she concludes with a confident smile, nodding once.

Uh-oh, busted. How can you explain to _Ingrid_ of all people what it means to suffer in lecture halls? People aren't meant to sit still at desks all day. You smile in an attempt to wipe away the lethargy that came over you so much at the utterance of "battle tactics."

"I didn't realize you were watching me so intently, Ingrid. It's been but a week since the mock battle. I'm flattered," you titter. 

Her countenance morphs into a stern frown, avoiding your eyes; fingers already having moved on towards the hair near her ear, tugging lightly for a moment. 

"We all need to do our best... and I wish to ensure that," comes Ingrid's weak defense. Cute.

"That's true. How noble of you, though," you dish out the compliment with a smile and watch your companion grow a faint blush.

The brightness of your disposition drops before you continue on, confessing that, "However, admittedly, I'd rather not sit so close to entrances. There's something so vulnerable about it, no?"

"Is that so? I never would've assumed you to be the type to worry about such a thing," Ingrid says with a start, blinking owlishly.

"Oh, well, we all have our character flaws, I suppose. Have you never considered the possibility of an undercover brigand taking us off guard?"

"Er, no, actually. I guess it's not too improbable an occurrence," Ingrid hesitantly admits before refuting, "but it's hard to imagine it happening at Garreg Mach of all places."

With that the Professor walks in, ushering in the beginning of class. Ingrid gives her farewells before hurrying to her seat in the front, leaving you by your lonesome at one of the desks furthest from the entrance.

Whew, thank the Saints. You have a feeling Ingrid would have coerced you into joining her. Sweet girl means well, but there are some limitations we truly cannot overcome. At least, that's what you tell yourself when the Professor walks back towards their desk after passing out everyone's papers, and your gaze rakes over their… form.

_Well, actually_... You halt in your admiration. It occurs to you in that moment that the Professor has a gait strikingly similar to the soldiers of the Church. 

All soldiers have a special rhythm to accommodate their armor, and it tends to leave its mark when even donning civilian apparel. You've picked up on it from years of working for your adoptive father, watching customers come and go through the marketplace. Any suspicions could easily be confirmed as they talked to shopkeepers and compatriots. You venture to claim that you're able to even identify their affiliation with decent accuracy. Soldiers of Faerghus tend to have the heaviest footing, a testament to their defenses. On the opposite end are Adrestians, who dress relatively light. The Church seems to have found a good balance, or maybe their soldiers have the most swagger? A confidence born of divine support, you suppose. There's nothing to define the Alliance, with each pocket seeming to have its own style picked from other cultures in and around the continent. In any case, were you as bad a skeptic as some of your classmates, the Professor's stride would have you convinced they were truly the child of Captain Jeralt.

Today's lecture focused on hand to hand combat, maybe the worst only behind campaign strategies. At least it's something the Professor is comfortable explaining. Concerning plans of action, they seemed to struggle giving a line of reasoning, as intuition has never failed them. Luckily, the other more "proactive" students could step in, eager to show off what the books have taught. Though, from what you've gleaned while eating in the Dining Hall, Dimitri and Felix have the experience to back their answers.

"We'll meet out on the training grounds tomorrow. For today, let's just try to visualize it as we review some anatomy and go through the steps. If you're confused on anything, I'll answer questions after the lecture and before practice," Professor Byleth calls out once back in front of the blackboard. Your blessing, straight from the horse's mouth.

A huff comes from the table in front of you. By the time you looked, you already knew it was Felix. Sylvain sat beside him, snorting softly before shifting comfortably in his seat. You're quick to follow.

If you had to guess who might be the biggest tryhard amongst the Blue Lions, it would have to be Dimitri. At least, that's the only conclusion you can make as you watch him jump in at every opportunity for participation. It wasn't frantic, nor did it stand out amongst the liveliness from Ashe, Ingrid, and Annette; it wasn't as passionate as Felix's quick jabs (though he seemed to become awfully checked out once it was made clear they were to remain indoors). Rather, his desire to absorb the ideas of others seemed to hold a different sort of sincerity. Not only was he keen to make his knowledge known, but he encouraged others to speak out as well. Dedue was a frequent target, but it was clear no one was safe.

Today, Felix took the brunt of Dimitri's semi-badgering. It was never enough to turn someone off, but Dimitri isn't one to be swayed when he spots untapped potential. Felix is rather easy to bait, too, especially on topics pertaining to his interests - even if he'd rather put his knowledge to the test than discuss theoretics.

Beyond that, class was rather uneventful, and especially not the best use of your time. The Professor seems not to care if you're… preoccupied with other matters during lectures that didn't involve magic - the healing _and_ combative arts, might you add. That's a new one. At least Fhirdiad kept you to white magic, but the Professor has expressed their desire to have you branch out. Not just the offensive power of Light, white magic's counterpart to what constitutes Faith-based magic, but to explore black magic as well. You were surprised, but that didn't stop you from finding an affinity with fire, something even the School of Sorcery failed to draw out. An exciting revelation, but now you too were marked with the inevitable countdown until you were instructed to use such destructive powers against others. A mission a month, and the Church of Seiros is not short on enemies.

In the meantime, you gather you can coast by the same way you did back at Fhirdiad. You will overcome whatever your adoptive father puts you through.

"On that note, I'll dismiss class a bit earlier than usual today," the Professor's announcement cuts through your musings. You relax your posture when they go on to say, "Have a good rest of your day, everyone."

### 

That next month passes, nimbly moving, escaping your notice. Your first mission was, objectively, a success. Terror has turned to horror as your psyche soaks in the blood left from a job well done. Even reminding yourself that you only turn your hand against recusants of the Church has done little to remove imagery of charred and mutilated remains.

Annette seems to revel in your company more than she had in awhile. After being reintroduced, she pulled away. Only somewhat, of course. She just wanted to focus on making new friends, and you can't blame her for that. Now, though, after seeing what you have in Zanado, Annette seeked the comfort that only comes from the familiar. And, _of course_ , you're right there with her, _for_ her. That's what friends are for.

When class ends, and Annette begins packing up her materials, you tell her you'll be staying behind to ask questions. She falters in her movements for a moment before resuming and asks, "Oh, want me to wait for you?"

"If you want, but it's not necessary. I know how much you've been looking forward to lunch."

Practically on cue, Annette's stomach growls. She flushes pink, stammering, "I didn't mean to skip breakfast! But honestly, I don't mind waiting a few more minutes."

"You should get a head start, Annie. Maybe you'll even have enough room for dessert." You smile, gesturing to the bag sat on the desk in front of you.

"I always have room for _your_ desserts, Mercie," Annette giggles. "But if you say so! You know where to find me. I told you I invited Ashe to join us, right?"

"Yes! I'll make sure to meet up as soon as I can."

The both of you part, and you make your way to the Professor. Silent as ever, they diligently clean up their work space. Magic: it gets a little dirty.

"Professor, might I have a moment of your time?" You ask a good couple meters from their desk.

As much as you would love to startle the Professor, the most you've been able to get is them halting any movement - for but a split second - in whatever position they were in, before turning to you as composed and, may you be so bold as to say, apathetic as always. They may not be apathetic, but that glassy lineament gives away nothing. Your teeth squeeze the tip of your tongue as you maintain eye contact.

"How can I help? Before that, you can come closer if you'd like. I've gotten rid of the sigils." They gesture to the circle, already broken.

You smile and step forward until you're but about two feet away before continuing, "Thank you. A klutz like me should always go out of her way to be extra cautious, though."

"Of course. What did you wish to discuss?"

"Right, well, it was," you start before breaking, pinching your lips together. Their expression doesn't change, but there's a shift in the body language. They're listening. "It was concerning my studies moving forward."

"What's the issue?" The glaze in their eyes peel away to a focus you've become familiar with. It used to concern you how their character changed on the subject of combat. Now there is almost comfort. Almost.

"I was thinking, wouldn't it be in my best interest to have some more… proficiency with weapons? There's only so much magic I'm able to manifest in battle before running myself ragged," you sigh. "I'd hate to become dead weight for the remainder, and my comrades must cover such shortcomings."

The Professor breaks away, tilting their head and closing their eyes before rubbing at their chin. There is a pause, and then another. The silence is stretched taut across the room.

"Has this occurred? I can't recall," they eventually ask. They meet you once more, confusion written clear across their face. Your eyes widen, eyebrows rising with them.

"No. Not yet, anyway," is your answer. "And I must admit, while I may not be the most put together, this isn't something I wish to participate in without some more preparation. Though I know magic has turned the tides of wars, I cannot say I feel comfortable strictly relying on tomes."

"I see." The Professor nods their head slowly. "The thing is, Mercedes…"

"Yes?"

"Truthfully, I wouldn't be so worried. As your training progresses, so do your capabilities. Naturally you'll learn to utilize larger amounts of magic at any given time. Also," they stop and take the moment to stare you down, "if you're implying that you'll be left stranded at enemy lines, know this: as long you're in my care, I will never place you on any frontlines, especially by yourself. Anyone leading a charge must be equipped to handle enemies who might attack first, and I'm expecting that from the likes of Dedue and Dimitri, not you, Mercedes."

_So much fire_. That's all you can think as you examine your conversation partner. There is a new look to them, one you're certain you've never seen before. It's as destructive as it is balmy, and you are a moth all the same to it.

"What about after you, when we graduate?" The question bubbles up before you realize. Not like you would've stopped it, though.

"If any idiot puts their primary healers haphazardly in the line of fire, they deserve no victory," their voice dips back into its usual monotonous cadence, and you release the breath you hadn't realized was caught in your chest. "But you're right, you won't be with me forever, and you should be prepared for anything. Did you have any weapons in mind?"

"Um, no, I don't. That's why I came to you as I wanted your opinion," you sheepishly confess.

"Right. Well then, how do you feel about bows? I take it you want something light, hopefully with a long range, no? They require a level of concentration similar to magic, so I'm confident you'd excel. As for strength training, I'm sure Ashe wouldn't mind lending a hand…" As they prattle on about the merits of archery against magic-resistant pegasus knights and "getting a Magic Bow in your hands," you begin to smile.

"That all sounds wonderful, Professor. I appreciate the input."

### 

As the sun gradually begins its descent, from orange to red, you start walking back towards the dorms. Cathedral bells ring for the evening just a minute later behind you - the official end of your week.

Anyone still out at this point was at the evening's congregation. It's something of an informal affair, as the Church of Seiros encourages individuals to pray on their own volition (of course, one can't forget the "mandatory" laity assemblies for holidays), but most save it for around now. You consider the social side as crucial as actual worship, so you like to join in when it's populated as such.

Going over the bridge, you find the number of passersby dwindling. By the time you make your way through the northern courtyard, you're all alone to bath in the sun's embers. This thought didn't last much longer. In your predictable _you_ -fashion, you fail to spot the silhouette advancing from the direction of the classrooms until they're about 20 paces behind you.

"Mercedes?"

When you spin around and see the Professor, the tension in your muscles drops quickly. The two of you were close to the training grounds now.

"Oh, Professor, I didn't see you there. Is everything alright? I see you're carrying plenty of paperwork," you speak as they catch up to you.

"I'm sure that's a familiar sight for you," they deadpan.

"Was that… a joke?" Your smile grows, eyes beginning to squint.

"I've been known to make them." There's a light to them, here; the affection leaves you warm. "Anyway, to question your question: yes. I've planned to finish up lesson plans for the next two weeks in my quarters tonight."

"Why so far in advance? Do you need any help? Here, let me." You grab a chunk of the paperwork that sat on top. The Professor has long since given up trying to stop you.

"I'll be fine. I want to have more time dedicated to the Heron Cup this following fortnight before the event, so I'm getting some other tasks out of the way."

"I see. Then have you picked someone to represent us since we last spoke?" You ask, knowing your last conversation was only earlier this afternoon.

(And, obviously, you offered then, but they were quick to reassure you needn't bother. Something along the lines of, "I know you wouldn't care, but you seem to prefer not being the center of attention." Which, admittedly, was a solid read of your character, but it took you back nonetheless. You thanked them.)

"Would you believe me if I said Yuri?"

You stifle a snicker, "I can't imagine he was thrilled. He never seemed the type to enjoy being center stage."

"Of course not," they pause as you start laughing in earnest, continuing when it dies down, "nevertheless, he knows how to captivate an audience."

"He certainly has a charisma about him," you say offhandedly.

"And that presence is what's key to our victory," they conclude.

With this you spend the next minute or so in cool silence until you reach their room. The Professor requests you wait for them to drop off their materials in order to escort you down to yours. You would be lying if you said you didn't want to snatch up another five minutes together, and quickly accept the offer.

"Oh, speaking of the Heron Cup," you break the silence, stopping to make sure they were listening, "I've been meaning to ask: may I have a dance with you at the ball?"

"Well, yes of course, but," they run a hand through their hair, "I'm sure this won't be a surprise to hear, _but_ , I've had a good number of students ask me this already. Blue Lions will be prioritized, though I can't promise I'll get to everyone."

"Then I'll make sure to stand out so you don't forget about me," you tease gently.

"That won't be a very hard thing for you to do, Mercedes." 

By this point the sun was gone, letting the night winds nip you doggedly. However, you don't think you could blame the dropping warmth as the sole reason for the blush that runs across your features. The Professor definitely wasn't _flirting_. No way. You can tell just by looking at them - they're just as bad as Dimitri or Felix. Still… 

"Ah, I guess we're here already," they say with a tap to your arm, bringing you back to this world.

You look up with an "Oh," turning back to face your companion before going, "Thank you, Professor."

"Anytime. Goodnight, Mercedes."

"Goodnight, Professor," you serenely parrot.

### 

"Dimitri?" You timidly call with a knock to the table at your side.

His Highness looks up with a start from his own table but a few rows down. You lock eyes, and his features melt, an affable smile that threatened to send you weeping. Instead, you begin descending further into the library.

"Mercedes!" Comes his sotto voce of an exclamation. It's possible it donned on him that, even if you're in a library, he's allowed to let his voice travel at this hour. He continues, louder, "How may I be of service?"

_"How may I be of service?" Dimitri asks as you reach his work station._

_"Good evening, Dimitri. Before that, I know it's not really my place to speak on this, but isn't it quite late to be working now? Classes have only just begun, too," you fret and gesture to the piles of papers and books that surround your house leader._

_"Did Dedue send you?" His polite smile doesn't drop, rather turning to something more exhausted._

_"Dedue? No, but I did ask him for your whereabouts, to which he sent me here." He nods his head at your explanation._

_"Understood. Well, the truth of the matter is that I have my own independent studies I like to indulge in outside of the Officers Academy's curriculum," he discloses, one hand's thumb rubbing into the palm of the other._

_"Is that so? Well I hope you still get enough rest tonight." Something screams that you ought not to pry or press the Prince._

_"Of course," his response is but a tad clipped._

_"In any case, I wanted to ask: how should I refer to the Professor?"_

_He frowns, looking back up at you before asking, "Do you mean Professor Byleth?"_

_You nod. "Yes, from what I can gather everyone seems to have their own… preference… regarding the Professor's, uh, pronouns?"_

_"Ah. You know, interestingly enough, I asked Captain Jeralt something similar after their mercenary company helped us escape the bandit attack." A ghost of a smile returns. "The impression I received was that the Professor will respond to essentially anything. I tried mixing it up in the hopes of seeing if he'd give any indications of a preference, but to no avail. Since classes have begun I've defaulted to… masculine terminology."_

_"That makes sense. I've met a few, erm, androgynous individuals during my time in Fhirdiad. Some seemed inclined to not sway one way or the other. I assumed the Professor was like that, too, but honestly I just wasn't sure how to go about it. Thank you, Dimitri." You beam down at him, and he returns the gesture._

_"Of course. If you don't mind me asking, how do you feel about the Professor, now that we've had our first class with him?" You don't think Dimitri would be able to pinpoint the cause for that sudden twinkle in his eyes, but you certainly catch it._

_"They've made a rather positive impression so far, so I'm willing to be optimistic, even if I have my own doubts. However, what's difficult is to see them as my instructor as we're so close in age," you say glancing down, playing with whatever fabric found its way between your index and thumb._

_"That's reasonable," Dimitri affirms, "I suppose you all would have a different outlook than me and the other house leaders."_

_"I find it difficult to imagine Edelgard being impressed with someone, especially one who could be considered a peer," you think aloud._

_Dimitri gives a small, huffy laugh, "A fair assessment, but he did personally save her life from an attack even respected knights would fall to."_

"I just wanted to check on you," you confess, pulling up a seat near his side. "It's not even been a month since we've returned from Gronder, and you're already back to your old habits."

Blinking, he looks back down at the stack of papers waiting for him. He pulls his head back up to say, "I suppose character flaws are hard to shed."

You smile.

"It happens to the best of us."

Turning your attention to the bag on your lap, you finally reach and pull out a small cloth pouch.

"I figured I would run out of air before convincing you to retire early tonight, so instead I brought you these," with that said, you rest the little bag on his side of the table.

"What is it?"

"Oh, just, little things of cake mix I was experimenting with." You loosen up the top knot holding it together. It dramatically falls to show four plain vanilla cakes cut up like brownies.

"I wanted to make cupcakes but we don't have the pans for that… or even icing, for that matter. However, I got my hands on this new flour that I was desperate to use. I'll admit, they aren't my best batch," you stop to give him a stern yet soft look, "But I have a feeling you won't be sleeping at any point tonight, so you're going to need all the food you can get. We don't need our king dead from penning one too many correspondents while attending meetings. After all, we've still got to take back Fhirdiad."

"Oh, well, thank you, Mercedes. But, um, I thought you were one of the few who wanted to prioritize Enbarr and Lady Rhea?" Dimitri raises the eyebrow that isn't obscured by the patch.

"Well, yes, _of course_ I wanted to save Lady Rhea. Probably as much as you wanted to follow Edelgard." His countenance grows a bit hard at the name. You press on, "But that's not what the others wanted, including By-the Professor. And even if I had fought harder and louder, I still would have been outnumbered."

"Do you… still not want to save her?"

"Er, _yes_ , but I've been thinking it over some more and… _Hmm_ … it felt like my opinion on the subject was being treated as objectively wrong, if that makes sense. If so many people disagreed with me, what did that say about my views from an impartial perspective?"

"Impartial?" He asks between bites of the first tasteless cake-brownie abomination of the night.

"That might not be the right term. In any case, I took this time to go over my feelings on the topic. It was bothering me too much to simply let it go. I do that so often, as most things I consider not worth fighting over when I'm usually not the expert opinion." Your good friend nods understandingly with a stuffed mouth. 

"Anyway, if everything that happens is the will of the Goddess, what if we are too late to save the one person who's closest to Her will? Even if - _when_ \- we save Lady Rhea, will everything go back to the way it was? I guess, to say the least, so much has changed and it's disconcerting."

With this, Dimitri becomes unreadable in expression. It stirs irritability within you - nothing to act on, never act on it. Calm down. He finishes up the last piece, absentmindedly ripping the next one in half as he thought of a response.

"Oh, I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to start prattling on like that." You start fidgeting with your bag's strap. "If I'm holding you up I can g-"

"There's no need for that, Mercedes, we're friends. Besides, it's been a pleasant break in the monotony of what's amounted to hassling for reinforcements for a straight fortnight." He leans over to place a gloved hand over yours which still grasps your bag. So gentle and soothing of your monstrous prince. 

"And I must say, _as your friend_ , that fear of change is something we both share, and we need to do what we can to accept it. Change is inevitable, and this might be the hardest lesson to learn, and I've certainly yet to truly internalize its teachings." Straight from the horse's mouth. He pulls back with this.

"That's all quite good and true, but what does this say about the Church of Seiros itself?" You repeatedly rub vertically across your bag's strap.

"Well, if we are to win, then everything goes back to something… more familiar. In fact, we plan to build even better upon the foundation we've been left, if all goes well. The Church of Seiros will be included in this, of course." Dimitri tilts his head. "You don't seem particularly pleased with this answer."

You half-assedly fight back a grimace. "But is that enough? Won't it be different? Is it truly alright to just… reiterate teachings that may be tone deaf to our modern plights? What about those who have become lost and broken, how are we to help them find their faith? It's not that I doubt your ability to bring about peace and prosperity, especially with Byleth on our side, but I worry for those who've suffered and continue to do so in the world we fight for."

"Wouldn't victory be enough for the doubtful? We shall not stop until we fulfill every obligation needed to better our Fódlan. If you're referring to Crests, well, I vow to prioritize merit over blood. Though I suppose they'll need to have faith in their leader before any of that occurs…"

How optimistic of you to look for spiritual support in a monarch.

"I… suppose. Thank you, Dimitri," you clear your throat. He blinks.

"Was that a sufficient answer, then?"

"Yes, I believe so. You're right about needing to stay committed to promises. My own wavering faith shouldn't impede progress. Apologies about that. We all just need to let things out of our systems one way or another," you sigh softly, sinking into your seat more.

"I'm glad to be of help. You all have done so much for me, it's about time I start repaying the favor," Dimitri asserts with a smile. You can't help but return his affection tenfold.

"Also, I meant to say so earlier, but I'm surprised Dedue has even permitted you to be at the library at this hour." You look around the spacious room. Its walls stretched into the dark above. You should take Annette and Ashe here for a night.

"About that…" He plays with his own fingers. "I requested Sylvain and Annette to get Dedue to relax for the evening, even if that meant dragging him to any operating pub."

"Isn't that a bit hypocritical?" You raise an eyebrow.

"I see your point, but I believe Dedue has earned his right to a good night out with friends. I, on the other hand, feel as if I've yet to be caught up," he sighs, gesturing to the pile sat abandoned.

"Is there anyway I can be of help?" You take the nearest paper in front of you and barely scan it. Alliance, Fhirdiad, Claude, Derdriu; whatever, different names, same shit.

"You are probably better off resti-"

"Dimitri, you are the last person who gets to say that to me."

Momentarily agape, he clears his throat. "Fair enough."

"Now, do you need any assistance?"

"Well," he sighs before pointing at what looked to be three or four letters that had sat in their special pile. "I'm finding it difficult to read the penmanship of these. Concentrating only gives me headaches. Would you mind reading them out loud?"

"Not at all, where shall I start?"

### 

_Seafoam bubbles sizzle and lick at what didn't sink into the sand. Though the waves didn't quite reach here, the ground continued to soften, shifting under your weight. You move just enough for the water to finally curl around and puddle under the impressions._

_You would have thought such a delicate pink sunset could entice any couple or party out of hibernation, but, all alone, you looked on to where the sky and sea met. The houses farther back, just on the edge between woodland and beach, remained dark, even with the threat of twilight. You did not need to turn around to know this._

_You've only been here a couple of times, the last trip already five years ago for some mission. This one isn't even real, you're sure of that (but there was a grave in that fake village that was so familiar). Did you even like the beach? Sure, it's a lovely sight, but aren't forests better for strolls? Enveloped in its embrace, Life croons in your ears. And though the ocean may thrum with the same energy, it has never welcomed you as one of its own._

_Rolling currents that died upon landfall, you take that next step forward. Next step, next step, next step. Certainly only a dream would keep you on top of what's now ankle-deep water (not that you would think anything odd of the sight until much, much later)._

_It's not much better than the sand. If anything, it's worse, but you're a quick learner (in this world, at least). There's a pattern to the way it pushes your soles up and down; how the best time to put the next foot forward is right as it lowers._

_You don't think you could ever describe how it felt to rise, pushed into the bleeding sky. Coral to magenta, as if the Goddess spilled her wine. Unadulterated rapture._

_So far out in the blackening water. If you were to turn around, you are certain the shoreline would not be there. You are also certain that you are better off here, anchorless. No bad fathers, false gods, or even gravity to hold you down._

_The sky oozes the same way Ferdinand did (Dimitri's punctures too clean for one to be called animal). When the light was able to cut through, it revealed waters to match. Then, came the rain of Dorothea's tears. Maybe it was just more blood (the sobbing thunder came soon enough to assure you otherwise)._

_Your foot sinks into something solid. Just as cold as everything else, though. You glance, and Emile's eyeless vacancy greets you back._

_Of course you scream. You scream, and scream, and_ scream.

And you wake up yet again.

It is a privilege to be awake. It is a gift from the Goddess to have your lover rush from the other room, hair only half-brushed. They are so ready to protect you, but there is no enemy. Not here, not anywhere.

Right?

"Everything alright?" Sat on the edge of your bedside, they hold their hand out.

Knuckles rubbing at whatever's collected in the corner of your eyes, the other hand takes theirs demurely. Their grip is strong enough for the both of you. Tenderly cupping your loose fist, they begin massaging its palm.

Eyes closed, you can only hear your own deep breaths. They grow slow, eventually, allowing you to speak.

"I'm fine now."

"You sure?"

"As I'll ever be," you say and open your eyes.

There is a shine to Byleth that you haven't decided whether to hate or worship. Ethereal, a real glow to their hair, their eyes sparkle with a life that you have never seen in a human. Art of Lady Seiros could never compare, and you pray the Goddess does not conflate your praise for blasphemy.

And, yet, for there is always a yet, it speaks to you. It tells you something is wrong, but you do not know what, and especially not why.

"How are you feeling?" You ask as they continue to rub _your_ hand.

"I'm pretty sure that's my line," there's no malice in their voice or furrowed brow.

"I've only just woken up, I don't think it's possible for me to articulate such thoughts at this time."

"Fair enough." They give a small smile. "Honestly I'm pretty tired, but Seteth wanted me up bright and early for a morning meeting. I asked why meetings couldn't be afternoon-only events and all he said was, 'We have another meeting already booked then.'"

You give an airy chuckle, placing your second hand on top of theirs. "Would you like me to accompany you?"

"No, no, no, don't worry. I want you to sleep in, and then I can leave a bit early when you request we have a late breakfast together." You both know they're only half-joking.

"Sounds like a plan, though I'm not sure I'll be able to go back to sleep," you confess.

Byleth kisses the back of your hand which still rested on theirs before saying, "At least try and lay back down. For me?"

"Alright, alright, no need to look at me like that," you giggle.

"Thanks," they say while getting up. They come up to your side, leaning down and kissing the crown of your head. "Come get me in about 120 minutes."

"Of course, dear" you grunt, trying to settle back down for the next hour or so.

Right before they reach the bathroom for another round of refreshing, you call out with a feeble, "Byleth?"

"Yes?"

"I'm not sure we should continue using these quarters."

Not that you can see, but Byleth goes to stare around Lady Rhea's old room. They think its decor reflects the last owner well enough (Who is this mercenary to say, though? They considered mattresses with box springs to be the pinnacle of lavishness). However, it is rather large and open.

"We can discuss it over breakfast, and I can ask Seteth for help rearranging our accommodations."

"Thank you, love," you're barely able to mutter as you cannot cling to reality much longer. Adrenaline gone, the comfort of a dead woman's pillow encourages you to sink below.

"Anything for you, Mercedes."

**Author's Note:**

> im on [twitter @hekatekun](https://twitter.com/hekatekun)


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